“No,” I said. “Of course not!” I wanted to hug her. I wanted to go back in time and make the rafting trip go away.
“If you don’t, I will,” Bitsy said.
Mary Bryan looked like she might cry.
“Actually, it’s okay,” I offered. “Whatever it is, you don’t—”
“Just get it over with,” Keisha said.
Mary Bryan looped a strand of hair around her finger. “It was an accident. I’d had too much to drink.” She drew her knees to her chest. “I’d really rather not …”
“She and Chase had sex on top of a picnic table,” Bitsy said. “Lovely, yes?”
I saw it in my mind—Mary Bryan, Chase, the picnic table—and I wished I hadn’t.
“We weren’t, like, right out in the middle of everyone,” Mary Bryan said. “It wasn’t like everyone could see.”
I nodded. I gave her my best imitation of a smile.
“I’d had too much to drink, that’s all. And it was dark. And honestly, I didn’t even …”
“We all make mistakes,” Keisha said.
“That’s right,” Mary Bryan said.
“And we learn from those mistakes and become better people,” Bitsy said in a singsong voice. She snorted. “Either that or we get fixed, which is infinitely more effective.”
“Huh?” I said.
“Nothing,” Keisha said. She shot Bitsy a look.
“We are going to tell her, aren’t we?” Bitsy asked. “She’s this year’s lucky winner, after all.”
I knew something was going on between them. It’s not as if my brain passed over it. And it’s not as if I passed over the whole Mary Bryan thing, either. But I latched onto the phrase “this year’s lucky winner,” and my blood pulsed faster. I had the brief thought of asking about Sandy—Had they heard of her? What did they know?—but I knew I wouldn’t. It would complicate things unnecessarily.
Keisha stood up and began collecting Diet Coke cans. “Our decision’s not final until tomorrow.” She glanced briefly at me. Almost as if she were apologizing, she said, “We had to meet with you one last time. You understand.”
“Sure,” I said. “Okay.”
“So we’ll let you know.”
“Great. Sounds good.”
I hesitated, then got to my feet and helped clean up. As I was collecting Diet Coke cans, Mary Bryan approached me.
“I’m not that girl anymore,” she said.
“I know,” I said, because I got it. Mary Bryan had changed, and I wanted to, too.
Bitsy took me home, with Mary Bryan and Keisha in tow. We stopped at Steak and Shake for dinner, which surprised me, but I didn’t complain. A few other kids from school were there, too. Sukie Karing. Josh Barnett. I tried to act nonchalant, but I was puffed with pride that I was the one entering with Keisha, Mary Bryan, and Bitsy. Sitting at their table. Sharing their conversation.
“Double cheeseburger, fries, and a Sprite,” Bitsy said when our waitress approached. “No, strike that. Chocolate shake.”
“Whipped cream?” the waitress asked.
“Hell yeah,” Bitsy said. She looked at the rest of us. “What? A girl’s got to eat.”
“Right, which is why your fridge is stocked with pita bread and Diet Coke,” Mary Bryan said. I could have been wrong, but it seemed like a bit of a payback.
“Hey, that’s my mum’s food,” Bitsy said.
Mary Bryan made a face. “Hate pita bread.”
“So shove it up your ass,” Bitsy suggested.
“The rest of you know what you want?” the waitress asked.
We ordered. As soon as the waitress left, Sukie Karing slid out of her booth and came over to ours. Her eyes lit briefly on me—curious, I could tell—but it was Keisha she directed her comments toward.
“Oh my god. Did you hear? About Mr. Cohen?”
Keisha lifted her head.
“What happened?” Mary Bryan asked.
Sukie gripped the edge of the table. “He might have rabies.”
“What in bloody hell are you talking about?” Bitsy said.
Now Sukie focused on Bitsy, almost as if she’d been waiting for permission. “He got scratched by one of those cats. You know, at school? It was curled up under his jacket on a sofa in the teacher’s lounge. He reached for his jacket to put it on, and the cat went nuts and attacked him. I’m not kidding.”
“You were there, were you?” Bitsy said. “You saw it with your own two eyes?”
“No, but everyone’s talking about it. He got scratched all down one arm. He had to go to the hospital.”
“I don’t think you can get rabies from a cat scratch,” Mary Bryan said.
“Well, maybe not rabies,” Sukie said. “But it’s like, those cats are a total menace. What if it had been a student who got scratched?” She leaned forward and spaced out her words. “Total. Law. Suit. City.”
“Lawsuit city,” Bitsy repeated. She shared a glance with Keisha. “Hmm.”
“One chocolate shake, two Sprites, one water,” our waitress said. “Now, who had the water?”
Sukie stepped to the side, edged out by the tray. “Anyway, it’s just really terrible, that’s all. Poor Mr. Cohen.”
Bitsy accepted her shake and took a sip. She smiled up at the waitress and said, “Do you think I could have an extra cherry? If it’s not too much trouble.”
“I’ll bring you a whole cupful,” the waitress said. “How’s that sound?”
“Marvelous,” Bitsy said.
Sukie nibbled at her fingernail. “Well. I guess I better go back. I just wanted to let you know.”
“Right, then,” Bitsy said. “Thanks for the chat.”
“Oh, sure. No problem. All right, well …” She raised her hand. “Bye!”
“Ta!” Bitsy called. She waited until Sukie was gone, then shook her head. “Ah, Sukie.”
Mary Bryan giggled.
I fiddled with my straw. “I’ve gotten scratched by a cat millions of times,” I said, “and I’ve never gone to the hospital.”
“Bingo,” Bitsy said. “And that, luv, is one of the many reasons we picked you and not her.”
“Huh?” I said.
Bitsy winked, and I did the ha-ha, very funny thing. A tingling warmth rose inside me.
The waitress returned with a plastic condiment cup filled with cherries. Bitsy selected the shiniest one and popped it in her mouth.
Three messages waited for me at home, all from Alicia. “Jane, pick up,” came the first one. “We’re leaving in fifteen minutes.” Then came, “Jane! Where are you! Karaoke, remember?” And finally, “You better not have blown me off. I mean it. We’ll swing by your house just in case—you better be there!”
I leaned against the counter. Crap. Guilt knuckled down inside me, along with frustration at the unfairness of it. I hadn’t blown her off. I’d honestly forgotten we had plans. But I knew she’d be pissed regardless.
Ah, shit.
I picked up the phone, knowing it would only be worse if I left it until tomorrow. Plus, if I called her now, she wouldn’t be there. She’d still be at the karaoke bar, nursing a Coke and her indignation.
“Hey, Alicia, it’s me,” I said after the beep. “I am so sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, I swear. I fell asleep in the library, can you believe it? I’m a total loser, I know. So anyway, hope you had a great time. See you tomorrow!”
I still had the taste of french fries in my mouth. It was making me thirsty.
The next day I made a point of getting to my locker way early so that I wouldn’t run into Alicia, and I managed to dodge her between classes as well. After French, I met up with the Bitches. Me and Mary Bryan and Keisha and Bitsy. They didn’t say anything to me, just, “Right, let’s go.” When we got to Bitsy’s, it was like total déjà-vu. Same empty house, same white sofas. Although this time we had Perrier and soy nuts, so it wasn’t completely the same after all.
I sat down on one sofa, and the three of them sat across from me on th
e other. I twisted my fingers in my lap.
“You know why you’re here,” Keisha said.
I did, but I wasn’t so dumb as to say it out loud.
“We’re very careful whom we pick to join us,” she said, “and we’re impressed with your qualifications.” She ticked off points. “You’re a freshman. That’s essential, of course. You’re not in any remedial classes. Your looks meet the minimum requirements.”
“Which is to say you’re not a dog,” Bitsy said. She winked.
“But mainly, we like your attitude,” Keisha said. “You appreciate what we represent, and we know you’ll make us proud. Am I right?”
“Um, yeah,” I said.
“Because we’ll be investing an enormous amount of energy in you, Jane. You’ll have to work hard to be worth it.”
I felt silly, but I nodded anyway. “I will. I promise.”
Bitsy leaned forward. “And everything we tell you remains secret. Do you understand?”
“Of course.”
She arched her eyebrows. “Once you’re in, you’re in. It’s a forever kind of thing, luv. So think about it before you give your answer, because you better be one-hundred-percent sure.”
I gazed at their faces. They all looked so serious. Mary Bryan smiled encouragingly, but she was gripping her Perrier harder than she needed to. For no good reason I thought of cats. Of black magic and girls who were dead. Fear twanged in my stomach, and I had an out-of-body sensation of standing over a pit, about to fall in.
Don’t you dare, I told myself. Don’t you dare wimp out now.
“I want in,” I said. “I want to be a Bitch.”
Time stopped. And when nothing happened, I had a moment of panic. Is that it? I thought. What happens next?
Keisha picked up her backpack from the floor and withdrew a small box. She walked to my sofa and stood in front of me. I stood, too.
“In that case, we ask you to be one of us,” Keisha said. “Do you accept our invitation?”
Hokey, whispered a voice inside me, but I embraced it, because hokey was better by far than the other.
“I do.”
“And do you swear to keep all our proceedings secret and confidential, or face the consequences?”
“I do.”
She opened the box and took out a key. It was dull with tarnish. She placed it in my palm and folded my fingers over it.
“This is your key,” she said. She gave me a meaningful look, but I didn’t know what the meaning was.
“Okaaay,” I said. I felt its weight and wanted to open my hand and look at it. But I didn’t know if I was allowed.
Keisha’s expression softened. “Congratulations.”
For no reason, my eyes filled with tears.
“Oh no,” Mary Bryan said, “now you’re going to get me going, too!” She jumped up and hugged me. “This is so awesome, Jane! You’re one of us!”
“For real?” My lips wobbled into a grin.
Bitsy unfolded herself from the sofa. She strolled to the kitchen and returned with a bottle of champagne. She popped the cork, and foam bubbled out.
“Cheers,” she said. “You’re officially a Bitch.”
The fly, the fly. The fly in the ointment. The fly in the ointment was this: The key Keisha gave me was to Lurl the Pearl’s private office. Not her classroom, where she held office hours and gave tutorials, but a separate office in Hamilton Hall. And the Bitches had instructed me to go there with an item from the girl whose popularity I was willing to suck away, because for me to rise, I had to knock down someone else … or something like that. My memory of Keisha’s instructions was more than a little muzzy. But anyway, only then would I become the Jane I was meant to be. Uber-Jane, with bonus molecules of charisma bouncing from my cells.
It was crazy, of course. Crazy enough to make my skin prickle. Although of course I’d hidden my reaction.
I had slept hard after yesterday’s induction ceremony, but this morning I replayed it all over again. How Keisha had explained the rules with a straight face, and how she frowned when I kept giggling. But I couldn’t help it. It was either giggle or fall into the pit, and I chose to giggle. Because it made me feel better … and because by that point I’d had two glasses of champagne.
“So it’s like an initiation,” I’d said. “You want me to steal something from someone to prove I’m, like, loyal.”
“It can be a Chapstick,” Mary Bryan said. “Or a ribbon. It doesn’t have to be something big.”
“But it’s not to prove your loyalty,” Keisha said. “Like I said, it—”
“Close enough,” Bitsy intervened. She smiled to show that she knew Keisha was going a little overboard. “Jane gets the picture. Right, pet?”
I didn’t, because I refused to. “The thing is, there’s really no need, because I’m totally yours already,” I said. “So we can skip the rite of passage dealie, okay?”
Keisha looked pained. Bitsy blew air our of her cheeks. She went to replenish the soy nuts. Mary Bryan bit her lip, then grabbed the bottle of Veuve Cliquot Grande Dame and topped off my glass.
“The thing is, you kind of have to,” she said. She grimaced, like, I know it sucks, but what can we do? “I know it’s a drag. I do. But it’s not like we want you to hurt anyone. Like I said, you can take something so small it doesn’t even matter. A Lifesaver, even.”
“Can I just ask someone for one?” I said. I could do that, ask whoever for a Tootsie Roll or a stick of gum.
“No, you have to take it,” Keisha said wearily. “You have to pick a girl, someone different every week, and take something that belongs to her—”
“Steal something that belongs to her,” Bitsy said. She’d returned with more nuts, which she picked through with one hand. She widened her eyes at Keisha’s scowl. “What?”
Keisha turned back to me. “And then you have to deliver it to Lurl the Pearl. If you want to be one of us for real, that’s what you have to do.”
“Ohhh,” I said. The giggles started up again. “So let me see if I’m getting this. I’m ‘officially’ a Bitch, but I’m not officially a Bitch until I pass the test. Is that it?”
“You have to steal something and give it to Lurl,” Keisha repeated.
“But why Lurl the Pearl?” I said, remembering how she scolded me for my Internet hanky-panky. “Anyway, she’ll turn me in. Unless she doesn’t know the thing isn’t mine, in which case she’ll be like, ‘Why is this freak giving me her Chapstick?’” I covered my mouth with my hand. “Oh my god, she’ll think I’m hitting on her.”
Mary Bryan sighed.
Bitsy wiped salt from her fingers onto her jeans. “This is getting extremely old.”
“Well, what do you suggest?” Keisha said. “If she doesn’t come through, you’re screwed, too, you know.”
Mary Bryan leaned back on the sofa so that her head was resting on the cushion. She stared at the ceiling. “It’s been a long summer,” she said. “I feel like I’m changing.”
“Well, you’re not,” Bitsy snapped.
“That’s what I tell myself, but …” She lifted her hands, then let them drift back to the sofa.
“Oh for crap’s sake,” Bitsy said. She put down the bowl of nuts and stood before me. “Look, Jane. You’ll take someone’s bloody Chapstick and you’ll give it to Lurl. Got it?”
“Bloody Chapstick,” I said. “Ick. Bad image.”
“Unless you’re afraid to,” Bitsy said.
I grinned. This was classic. “Afraid? Moi?” I went mock-solemn, pressing the tips of my fingers together in prayer. “Just tell me one thing. You guys aren’t going to make me kill a—” I almost said “cat,” but changed the word at the last second. “A dog, are you?”
Mary Bryan shot a swift, startled look at Keisha.
“Of course not,” Keisha said sharply.
Mary Bryan trained her blue eyes on me. “I love dogs,” she offered. “I wish I could get one, but my mom won’t let me.”
Bitsy studi
ed me. I couldn’t read her expression. “Come on, luv,” she said. “Throw us a bone.”
I downed the rest of my champagne, which really was delicious. Like fat yellow bumblebees. “Oh okay. As long as I don’t have to kill a dog to get it.”
Bitsy half-smiled, then selected a soy nut from the bowl. She held it, but didn’t eat it. “Quite the dark horse, this one, isn’t she?”
I buzzed with pleasure, as if she’d seen the secret me. Uber-Jane, ready to take on the world.
But today, as I trudged to my locker, the giddiness was gone. In its place stirred an unsettling confusion. Because hahaha, great joke and all that, only they’d never broken character. Not once. No smirks to show it was all a game, no shared looks when they thought I wasn’t watching. They were good, those three. Either that, or …
No. A girl couldn’t really siphon away someone else’s popularity. Could she?
It didn’t escape me that Lurl the Pearl did, in fact, have a sideways connection with all that was spooky. Her early religions course, for one, with its focus on age-old rituals and mythologies. And she herself was weird as hell.
Then again, if the Bitches wanted to shroud themselves in mystery—while at the same time putting me through the paces—then Lurl was the obvious choice. I’d read more than just Ramona books, and I knew how this stuff worked. The crusty old man in an antique store; the wizened librarian with owlish features; the pale, silent comic-book collector living forever in his parents’ basement—this was the stuff that rumors were made of. Lurl the Pearl was Crestview’s creepiest option, and of course the Bitches were willing to take advantage.
That didn’t mean I wanted to give her a stolen offering, though. But what choice did I have if I wanted to be accepted by the others?
Through my headache, I noticed all the shit girls lug around every day. Lipsticks, cell phones, compacts. Little plastic makeup pouches attached to the loops of backpacks. Clippies shaped like butterflies. Jewel-studded barrettes. Tubes of body glitter. Gum.
But I couldn’t actually steal anything from anyone. For starters, someone was sure to see. Her eyes would lock with mine, and I’d yank my hand from her backpack, leaving the body glitter behind. “Sorry,” I’d say with a burning face. “I was just wondering what kind it was.”